Digging Up Bones: My Pal Porkchop

This is Porkchop Smith, my favorite cat of all time. The Porkster adopted me (and I say "me" and not "us" because I always thought of Pork as mine and not Christina's) one afternoon when I was married and living in Raleigh Court in Roanoke. He came into the house and settled in, not so much as a "fair thee well."

Under any circumstances prior to Porkchop's arrival, he would have been bounced without a lot of fanfare. I don't dislike cats, but I've never had much of an affinity for them, either. Until Pork showed up and took over, anyway.

Pork was a Himalayan with big blue eyes and just about the most easy-going, non-pretentious, unspoiled disposition I've ever known in a cat. He rolled with the flow, as they'd say in California, and always seemed to do and be what/where he was supposed to. He was an outdoor cat who wanted to be with his peeps when the sun went down, but he was mildly affectionate when he wasn't catting around.

Damn good feline. I still get a little buzz when Pork comes to mind. On one of those nights when he was looking for love in all the wrong places, a neighbor's car did him in--as I was always afraid would happen. I don't think Pork heard too well and the car was likely on him before he knew it. Didn't stop and didn't knock on the door. My buddy deserved better than that. It still hurts a bit when I remember finding him in the street the next morning.

Wherever you are, Porkchop, I'm still thinking about you, buddy.